


Ghost

by BuckityBuckBarnes



Category: Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types, Winter Soldier (Comics)
Genre: Avengers: Infinity War Part 1 (Movie) Spoilers, Bucky has a dog, F/M, Original Character(s), PTSD, Sad times, mental health, service dog
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-10
Updated: 2019-01-10
Packaged: 2019-10-07 21:07:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,246
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17373332
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BuckityBuckBarnes/pseuds/BuckityBuckBarnes
Summary: When the world reset, Bucky was taken from your life. All that’s left are memories and a trail of loneliness.





	1. Melancholic

**Author's Note:**

> I alternate the events of IW a lot since I know what happens in the comics, but I wanted to make it fit my story. Also, I’m using a version of Lisa Spiller’s Fubar, so there’s that.

Everything was a bitter grey.

**Melancholic.**

It was an understatement.

How could you really describe a situation such as this?

Laying alone on the torn couch, you are reminded of the void that Earth was left with after the events. The apartment, once lit with warm colors, was dim and cold. The only light comes from the porch, distorted by raindrops pelting against the windows. 

The Chow Chow, Fubar, ambles forward, tugging at your sweater. He knows that there’s devastation tearing you apart. It’s almost frustrating to not understand where it came from. You were withering away slowly from the inside out.

His giant tongue lolls from his mouth as he demands your attention. Before all of this, he had plenty of company. When you weren’t home, there was always someone else. Now, however, you shut yourself in this small apartment, too tired to let anyone else in.

There was no one else besides you and this massive dog.

“Down, Fubar,” you command, lightly shoving his muzzle away from your body.

He’s persistent.

He’s had to be these days. You wouldn’t budge unless you had motivation. He grumbles, laying his head over your stomach.

“Fubar,” you mutter in irritation. Still, you roll off of the couch.

The kettle on the stove hisses, indicating that you’d been thinking for far too long. You take it off and grab Fubar his dinner.

Kibble with pre-cooked chicken and carrots on top. Just like how Bucky used to make it.

You lean over the counter in silence, watching the dog eat.

Bucky left his doggie friend behind. 

He left you. 

He left his family.

You’ve long since given up on picking up broken pieces.

-

_“What…is that?” you sputter._

_You bumped into this strange man while running late for work. As he helps you pick up your fallen brochures and packets, a huge lion of a dog bounds happily over._

_You liked dogs. Loved them. But never had you seen one so big and intimidating._

_“A dog. You see one everywhere. There’re a few dog parks. They have some there,” he retorts in slight annoyance. If you had watched where you were going, he would not have to sort through his mission files that were mixed in with your office papers. He won’t admit that he was totally distracted by you, standing stock-still which resulted with you colliding into him. He couldn’t help himself. You were just that pretty. Or maybe, it was because he hadn’t had much interaction with girls after the 1940’s. Yeah, that was definitely why._

_“Yeah, thanks genius.”_

_“You asked,” he barks out a laugh._

_“Christ, if my boss asks me why I’m late, I can’t use the ‘I ran into an Avenger’ excuse.” You scrunch your eyebrows in frustration, straightening up documents._

_When a cold nose touches your bare calf, your heart almost jumps out of your chest._

_“Easy, Fubes, I don’t think she’s interacted with the outside world before,” the Winter Soldier teases, tugging the dog back by a harness._

_“Excuse me?” you seethe. “Wanna run that by me one more time, Winter Asshat?”_

_He takes in your angry appearance. Although your attitude was scary (and he doesn’t want to face it ever again), you looked kind of cute. He seems to ponder something in his head before sighing. God, he needed to get it together._

_“Sorry, I don’t mean to be rude, I swear.” He holds out his hand. “And call me Bucky, please. Would you like me to talk to your boss?”_

_The complete 180 leaves you speechless. This guy was stranger than you thought he would be. Not that you ever imagined you would have the chance to meet a superhero, let alone fight one on the way to work._

_You cautiously take his hand, side-stepping closer to the edge of the sidewalk when ‘Fubes’ tries to sniff you. “Is he coming along?”_

_Catching your own hostile tone, you wince in regret. “There’s uh…no dog policy in the office.”_

_Bucky smirks, leaning against the street lamp. “Fubar is a good boy,” he assures. The dog’s tail waves like a flag at the mention of his own name. “Plus, I don’t like to pull the ‘local celebrity’ card often, but whatever it takes to get you out of trouble.”_

_You eye him up and down, curious as to why he had gone from snippy to friendly in a matter of minutes._

_Also, he was handsome, but that was something you weren’t ready to admit._

_“This is weird,” you mumble, wondering if this was all a dream. “You’re weird.”_

_Bucky’s eyebrows shoot up in amusement._

_“No, I said my name was Bucky. You losin’ your head, Darlin’?”_

-

You remember how that day ended.

As soon as you stepped into that office, you were bombarded with hundreds of questions by your manager. It was your third time being late, and she was ready to fire you right in front of everyone.

Of course, Bucky had strolled in with his dog and she immediately backed off.

-

_“What’s it like?” you ask, taking a sip of your coffee._

_“What’s what like?” Bucky hums. He long-since apologized for bumping into you and suggested lunch as a peace-offering. He was staying around the area for a meeting anyway and didn’t mind waiting for you to get off of work._

_He still confused you to no end. You don’t find yourself unattractive, but having an attractive person asking you for your number was baffling. You just didn’t have these kinds of interactions at the boring office._

_“What’s it like to be so gorgeous that you can manipulate middle-aged women into having mercy on her workers?” You stifle a yawn, clearly exhausted from the long week._

_Bucky notices your tired gaze and smiles in empathy. “Y’hear that, Fubes? She thinks I’m gorgeous,” he says, glancing down at the dog. Fubar perks up at his name, keeping himself from knocking over other outdoor tables, but making sure that you know he’s listening. When you turn in embarrassment, Bucky calls your name softly. “I think it’s great,” he chuckles. “In all honesty, I haven’t felt this in a long time.”_

_You quirk an eyebrow. “Whattya mean?”_

_Bucky pauses, questioning if he should go on. “I don’t mean to make this a pity-party – I just, I’m not used to being liked, you know? Before things settled down, I was known as a criminal. Now, I’ve got a best friend, a family in the Avengers, and just…”_

_“Contentment?” you suggest. “I think you deserve it, really.”_

_No one has really acknowledged it before, and he’s surprised, to say the least. He’s thankful that he met you today. The man visibly relaxes in front of you. His calm blue eyes search for something._

_“I didn’t mean to be an asshole earlier. I guess I’m still learning how to be more open and less guarded.”_

_You lean in confidently this time, enjoying the turn of events. With a genuine grin, you place your hand over his metal forearm. “I appreciate it, but I get it. Don’t beat yourself up too bad.” You pull back when he inhales sharply, but his metal hand is quick to capture your wrist. He hesitantly entwines his fingers with yours, calming his panicked heart._

_“Do you maybe wanna grab dinner sometime? You know, when I’m not a sweaty mess?” He gestures to his red Henley, which clung to his skin after a jog with Fubar._

_You laugh, trying to hide the overwhelming enthusiasm bursting through your chest. “Yeah, I would.”_

_“Do you really hate dogs though? Because I – I don’t know, I kind of like to cook and maybe you’d want to come to my apartment, wait –” Bucky runs a hand over his face to reset his stumbling words. It only makes you snicker harder. “That didn’t sound so good. You know what? We could go out instead. Unless you wanted to…”_

_You peer down, watching as Fubar regards you with big brown eyes. He’s not used to strangers rejecting him like you did. You can tell that he’s taking it personally by the way he sits near Bucky’s leg, afraid to approach you once again._

_“We can go to your place, Bucky.” You lean down nervously, holding out your hand._

_Fubar sniffs at it before licking a long, slobbery stripe up your palm. Soon after, he’s an excited mess all over again. His tail swings as he inspects your shoes. After a few moments, you calm down around the dog’s company. He wasn’t as bad as you thought. Bucky wasn’t either._

_Bucky watches your interaction with Fubar and sighs in relief._

_And when his eyes meet yours, he catches the feeling that he might just be into you._


	2. Really Gone

With a quiet ‘click’ of the clip, the leash is fastened to Fubar’s harness.

He used to come straight to you for walks, understanding that when the sun comes up, it’s time for a walk, after a meal, another, and two more before bedtime. Nowadays, he’s not entirely sure when you wanted to go out. The inconsistency is yet another peculiar thing he had to get used to.

He watches as you move around slowly, your posture slumped in defeat. Nonetheless, he’s patient with you. He always has been.

-

_The first date was surely memorable._

_The rusted stairs creaked as you ascended up to Bucky’s apartment. You admit it wasn’t what you were expecting. He was a big-league superhero, someone who can certainly afford to live in a fancy house, much less the Avenger’s complex._

_A knock at the door and apartment 699D opens up. Behind the olive slab of metal is Bucky, dressed in a tight black t-shirt and a pair of sweats. His hair is a tousled mess, wet on the ends to signal that he had just taken a shower. Fubar ambles up from around his legs, excited to see you again._

_“Did I come over-dressed?” you inquire, glancing sheepishly down at your dress. It wasn’t a gown or anything fancy, but standing next to a casual Bucky made you feel really stupid._

_“No, no!” He insists rather quickly. His expression almost resembles a fish out of the water, stunned to see you so dolled up. He drags his gaze up from your legs up to your face, biting back a hitched breath. “You look great – Perfect.”_

_You excuse his flustered talking as he guides you inside. “I was just finishing up dinner, make yourself at home.”_

_His living room is modern, compared to the exterior of the apartment. The walls were painted beige which complimented the dark mahogany floors. He furnished it minimalistically, having three couches, a simple coffee table, and a flat-screen attached to the wall. Of course, he also added a plush dog bed in the corner of the room. It was most likely Memory Foam, and you were definitely jealous of that mutt. Other than that, his apartment consisted of a small bedroom, a bathroom with a bathtub-shower combo, and a tiny kitchen that barely fit his size._

_When he caught your curious gaze, he explained that he liked a more modest living space. The city was way too busy, and having at least a quiet apartment to come home to helps him relax from the hustle of it all. You take it all in and laugh at the slight absurdity. It was so small for a soldier his size, but you liked the fact that he didn’t care._

_Following him to the kitchen, you’re hit with the smell of fresh spices and herbs. What confuses you, however, is the chicken over the cutting-board, shredded as if it had gone through a woodchuck._

_“It’s not for us,” he explains with deep laughter. He points to the pasta already plated on a separate counter. “Those are ours. This stuff is for Fubes.”_

_“You feed your dog grocery-store chicken?”_

_“Among other stuff like kibble and veggies. Only the best for my pal,” he plops the meat into a boiling pot before leaning up against the sink. “That gonna be a problem?”_

_It’s a challenge, but you’re not sure what for. Was it a deal-breaker in the relationship if you didn’t like the way he fed his pup? You smirk at the possibility that he was insinuating a relationship in the first place._

_“Not at all, Sarge.”_

_“Sarge?” he repeats. His smile drops until it blows up into a full-on grin. “You tryin’ to get me in bed on the first date?”_

-

With heels clicking against the cold cement, you keep your eyes cast down, allowing Fubar to drag you around the city. It was a dangerous thing to do, especially since New York didn’t give a shit if you walked into traffic, but you trusted Fubes. He knew exactly where he wanted to go. Being a former dog of a reckless super-soldier, he also knew how to navigate around without dying. At some point in his life, Bucky nearly hopped into traffic while on the run with the Chow Chow. Needless to say, even if he doesn’t remember that certain incident, the instinct of looking left and right before crossing the street was ingrained deeply in his mind.

He stops suddenly, and you nearly run into him. When you look up, you’re met with a short black fence with a crooked sign.

‘Dog run - Madison Square’

How you ended up all the way here, you’ll never know.

You wonder if Fubar understood where he was taking you. You wonder if he cared that you wanted to sit down on this dirty ground and cry your eyes out once more.

Taking a deep breath, you wring the leash in your hands before entering the one place you avoided for several months.

-

_Bucky was late coming home tonight._

_You had to get used to this, moving in with a superhero boyfriend. Still, it never ceases to drive you crazy. You love him. You’ve never verbally said it before, but you know that he knows._

_You huffed out a frustrated breath, wrapping leftover dinner for your soldier. Your tired gaze falls over to Fubar, who stubbornly sat at the of the couch, staring down the door for Bucky. He didn’t want to go out for a walk, didn’t even run to you when his leash was in view. He just wanted to wait. It was like this almost every night that Bucky left._

_The knob jiggles and the hairs on the back of your neck raise as you glance back up. Whoever was on the other side was surely struggling to get through. They fumble with the lock several times until it goes completely silent._

_Fubar bares his teeth, grumbling lowly in warning. He stands, posture stiff and eyes trained on the entrance._

_You immediately grab the emergency pistol from the kitchen drawer, tip-toeing over to where the intruder was._

_If someone was here, trying to get in, does that mean that Bucky was dead?_

_“Easy Fubar,” you whisper._

_Your breathing picks up when the doorknob slowly turns._

_As soon as the door swings open, you lock your weapon onto the target._

_In stumbles an exhausted Bucky, hair tangled and encrusted in dried blood. He seems unfocused, breathing heavily as he leans onto the wall for support._

_“Honey, I’m home.”_

_Locking the gun and dropping it onto the table, you rush over, an instinctive sob escaping your lips. Fubar beats you to him, giving Bucky support from his other side. He whines and paws at the man’s leg._

_“Looks like Fubes was worried,” Bucky mumbles._

_You scramble for a medical kit, easing Bucky down onto the couch. “Yeah, well, so was I,” you retort. He releases a sigh of relief, pulling off his jacket and slinging it over the couch. It lands right in front of the bedroom, but he doesn’t really care. He licks his dry lips and frowns. “I’m sorry, Doll. I’m so sorry. I know how –”_

_“Bucky, hush,” you command, lifting up his blood-soaked shirt. The gash along his abdomen is already healing, but you clean it up just in case. “You need to be more careful. I thought you…I thought you died.”_

_He hums, his human hand stopping your movement while his metal hand cups your cheek, thumbing away the fresh tears. “No, I’m okay. It’s good to be home, Baby.” He leans down, despite the burning in his chest, and places a soft kiss against your lips. “Thank you for always being so patient with me.”_

_You throw him a watery smile, shaking your head. “That patience may be running thin.” When he raises an eyebrow, you drop your gaze. “Can we just head to bed? I’m so tired.”_

_“After a shower,” he chuckles, stumbling to his feet. Again, Fubar is at his side, helping him towards the bathroom._

_He stops at the doorway and turns to your form, which is still on the floor as you pick the medical kit up._

_“Darlin,’” he calls out. When you look up at him, you realize his eyebrows knit in worry. Worry that you’ll leave after tonight. Worry that you’ll stop loving him. He bites back his own tears as he runs his hand through his hair nervously. “Happy anniversary?”_

_You laugh, nodding your head gently in his direction. In an attempt to ease his frantic nerves, you apologize for your earlier comment. You didn’t mean it of course. It’s just that having mini-heart attacks every time Bucky came home was getting bothersome._

_It’s a routine you’d have to get used to._

_“Happy anniversary, Buck.”_

-

The park bench is cold.

You rub your hands together, watching as Fubar frolicks among the group of dogs. He’s so much more energetic than all of them, having the time of his life. It’s comical the way he towers over them all. You remember Bucky once persuading a small boy that his dog was a gentle giant – not some monster.

You feel a presence approaching you left and glance over cautiously. An elderly woman strolls forward, a spark of familiarity behind her eyes. “You’re here alone today.”

You plaster a fake smile. “No different than any other day.”

“That’s not true,” she frowns, eying you suspiciously. “Wasn’t there a handsome young man with you before? You haven’t ditched him, have you?”

You scoff bitterly, shaking her off. “I have no clue what you’re talking about. The cold weather must be messing with ya. Why don’t you have a seat and rest for a bit, Ruth?”

She’s still bothered by the faint memory scratching the back of her mind, but she settles beside you, casting her gaze over to where her Yorkie was. She clasps her wrinkled hands together and sighs.

That was the reality of it all.

Whatever Thanos has done – only the Avengers really remembered or cared.

For others, despair became an overwhelming factor. They went about their daily lives in utter shock. Depression became a bitter extreme, to the point where PTSD caused many to suppress their memories.

Thanos did have mercy on some, or maybe it was just an odd side-effect of the whole ordeal, but those people were the ones who didn’t know their loved ones ever existed.

Their realities were altered tremendously. Memories of those that have vanished are soiled and twisted.

Fubar is one of these amnesiacs, you think. He doesn’t seem to wonder where his owner is.

He doesn’t even remember that Ruth had two dogs, not one.


	3. Detach

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Do you smell that? That’s sadness. Has not been checked for errors/fluency.

_“Fighting Thanos…” you repeat. The absurdity of it all short-circuits your brain. “Fighting Thanos, hah!” You laugh bitterly, throwing your hands up into the air. “The purple fuckwad? You’ve got to be shitting me!”_

_In front of you, Bucky stands stiffly, his lips pursed in frustration. He fought Steve on this for a long time tonight, and you weren’t making it any easier. He takes in your appearance, noting your messy hair and tear-stained cheeks. This may very well be the last time he sees you, and if you were a robed mess, so be it. He just wants to spend his last night with you in his arms._

_“Darlin’ –” his voice cracks._

_“No, Bucky! It’s my turn to talk. Can’t I have a say in your stupid missions for once?!” You choke on your tears, trying hard to keep a strong composure, but as the seconds pass by, you feel yourself falling apart. “If this is a war we can’t win,” you sob. “Why can’t we spend our last days here together?”_

_Bucky runs a hand nervously through his hair. Watching you pace in front of him like a caged animal was amplifying his own anxiety. “You know it doesn’t work that way,” he mutters, a pained expression twisting his features. “I signed up for this – I signed up to fight for Earth, to fight for you and Fubar so that you two could live a happy life.”_

_“I couldn’t do it without you,” you cry, walking up to him. You grasp tightly onto his t-shirt, afraid that if you let go, he’ll disappear. He wraps his arms around you, silently cursing the sight of the new metal-arm that Shuri had made. “What are the odds?” you whisper against his chest._

_“One in four billion.”_

_He barks out a watery laugh, trembling against you. You join in bitterly, hoping that something – anything will stop it all._

_“Y-you can’t…Buck. Please don’t do this,” you plead quietly._

_He focuses his blurry gaze on Fubar, who lays his head down defeatedly with a whine. He doesn’t know what’s going on, but from the looks of it, it was nothing good._

_“I know I ask a lot,” Bucky murmurs. “But can you do me one more favor?”_

_You don’t pull away, don’t make eye contact. “Yeah?”_

_“Distract me tonight. Pretend this isn’t happening.” It’s a ridiculous request that, surprisingly, you weren’t about to decline. “All I want to remember is the people that I love the most. One in four billion isn’t the best probability,” he scoffs, feeling you sink in his grasp. He was sharing the weight of the world with you, and you don’t think that you can handle this tonight. “So if I die trying, I wanna remember what I’m fighting for.”_

-

The blankets twist around your legs uncomfortably as you jolt awake. Even with the AC turned way up high, you feel a searing heat in your chest.

The sound of shuffling beside you causes you to turn, smiling unconsciously. He was always so restless.

“Bucky? You awake?”

The sight of a confused Fubar snaps you back to reality. He climbs over to you and licks your tears away, whimpering at your grief-stricken face.

You sit there wide-eyed in silence, staring at nothing in particular.

This room is way too empty.

-

_Snarling tears through Fubar’s throat as he strains against the hold of the leash. He’s more confused and hurt than you, wondering why he was being pulled away from his owner. Bucky, aside from his late arrivals, always stuck to a loose schedule. Around this time, it was either debriefing or a get-together with Steve._

_Realizing that you won’t budge, his grumbling dies down to a broken-hearted whine._

_“You be a good boy, Fubes,” Bucky says, averting his gaze away from the anguished eyes of his best friend. He takes only a few steps forward in order to pat the dog on the head, reassuring that he was a good dog and that he did nothing wrong._

_Before Fubar can reach forward to pull him by his shirt, Bucky backs up again, casting his gaze over to you_  
.  
“I want you to go home, and rest. Everything’ll be alright. This will all be over in a few days,” he says. His smile is guarded, clearly disappointed that he had to leave you behind. He takes your hand in his, easing your tight grip from the dog leash. 

_Fubar has long since given up on coming along, but your hands hold the lead so tightly as if it will keep you grounded._

_“Rest? What kind of fucked up shit -” you choke, shaking the oncoming tears away. “Please – just….please try to come home in one piece.”_

_Bucky chuckles, nodding. “Yes, mother.” When he sees your stare harden, he quickly leans forward and kisses you gently. Trying to have as much time with you as possible, he pulls back slowly._

_“I promise that we’ll see each other again soon.”_

-

Tonight was one of those nights where you know you definitely won’t be sleeping. There wasn’t any use waking up from your hellish nightmares only to find that he isn’t beside you. So instead of laying in bed awake, you decide to go for a drive.

Fubar sits in the backseat, his harness secured by a seatbelt. He curiously watches as the city scene is slowly replaced with trees and a few yellow streetlights.

Truthfully, you aren’t sure where you’re going. All you wanted to do was drive until you ran out of gas. Maybe you’ll just end up in the middle of the forest and get lost in it. Hypnotized by your endless thoughts, you go down the road in silence. The radio lost signal a few minutes ago, and you decided just to shut it off.

After an hour, the trees begin to part and become sparse as you reach a gravel road. You ignore the concerned grunt of Fubar and glance up at where you’ve ended up.

It’s sleek and modern still, considering that it was in the middle of nowhere. Although not as prominent as it was in the city, an ‘A’ is plastered over the corner of the building. It lights up brightly, standing out from the dim lights on the inside.

“Great,” you mutter. Glancing down at your fuel gauge, you realize that you only have enough for a halfway trip back. You begrudgingly pull up to the front, parking right next to the entrance.

From the moment your car approaches, you know that FRIDAY has sight of your presence. Still, ever since doomsday, none of the remaining Avengers really cared enough to come outside unless there was another world-ending threat.

You roll down the windows and turn off your engine, taking a deep breath of the cold air.

What are you going to do?

You groan in frustration, dropping your head back to rest against the seat.

You hated this. You hated feeling helpless and weak. You hated feeling so alone in the world. You hated that everything you loved was taken away from you in one fell swoop. At some point, work drove you so crazy that you had to quit. The office was intolerable before him, sure, but ever since Bucky showed up in your life, you would walk into your job with a bounce in your step. He always waited outside for you with Fubar, coffee in hand and a sweet smile on his face. The first day you left work and didn’t see him standing there, you nearly had a breakdown in front of everyone else.

With Fubar’s sudden bark, you sit up straighter, heart hammering in surprise.

A figure with his hoodie up rounds your car, alarming Fubar. But when he turns, the dog goes silent, and instead, wags his tail in excitement.

The man stares back at you with sharp blue eyes as he takes his hood off of his head. He smiles tiredly, resting his elbows onto your open window. His beard has grown in thicker since Thanos and his hair is slightly longer.

He looks rough around the edges, sure, but Steve Rogers looks **alive.**

Just the mere sight of those baby-blues is a punch to your gut. Steve is alive, and Bucky is not.

You know it’s unfair to blame him, but this was all Steve’s fault.

If he hadn’t dragged Bucky out of his home to fight this war, perhaps he could’ve been here with the other half of the population. The Avengers might have been able to do all of this without him.

Steve watches your gaze become unfocused. He lets out a sigh, his smile dropping immediately.

“I haven’t seen you in a while,” he states. He sounds like he’s been crying.

Well, you have been too.

“I’ve had no reason to visit,” you scoff.

“[Y/N],” Steve calls out, forcing you to look at him again. When you observe him closely, you see the dark bags underneath his eyes and his chapped lips and his shaking body. “We’re trying to –”

You stop him before he can finish, shaking your head firmly. “Fuck off, Steve.”

His smile is tight-lipped as he tries to retaliate. “I’ve got Pepper working on a device to –”

“Fuck. Off.” You snap, breaking out into tears once more. “You’ can’t bring him back. You can’t bring **_any_** of them back, Steve!” Your throat feels tight, your jaw hurts from your face tensing up. You try to take a breath, but it’s so hard when anger wants to push its way out, causing your bottom-lip to tremble.

Steve wants to comfort you, but he knows better than to get any closer. He leans back, his composure still holding strong. “I miss him too.”

Your eyebrows furrow as you stare him down. He becomes a blur through your hot tears.

 

“Then you shouldn’t have taken him along.”


	4. The Ghost

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun Fun Fun!!

10 missed calls from Steve Rogers.

3 texts from Natasha Romanoff.

1 voicemail from Tony Stark.

But nothing from Bucky Barnes.

Ever since the encounter with Steve, you disconnect yourself from immediate family and friends. Instead, you walk through life as if there were clear glass walls around you. You can see and interact with everyone, but none of it felt genuine. They could never really reach you.

You scrub the dish in your hands absentmindedly, peering out the window to watch as the blue pickup pulls out of the driveway.

It was another failed date – one that Fubar, who was accepting of almost everyone he meets, absolutely despised. From the moment the man walked in, Fubar raised his tail like a red flag, snarling angrily. And when you brought him into the kitchen, you had a nagging feeling that the guy you let in was bad news. Even if things had gone well tonight, you wouldn’t have contacted him again. You never did with any of the people you brought home.

Unhealthy as it may seem, you could never date anyone who **_wasn’t_** Bucky. Everyone that walked in had some sort of trait reminding you of your soldier: blue eyes, brown locks, or a crooked smile. None of them could compete, however, for they didn’t have Bucky’s wits, humility, and compassion. They didn’t have his vast knowledge of weaponry or 1940’s war stories. They didn’t have that drive to redeem himself, or more importantly, become a better man.

They weren’t Bucky Barnes and they could never be him.

Your phone clatters against the marble counter once more, signaling an incoming text. Dropping the plate back into the soapy water, you release a strangled sigh, crossing the dark kitchen. The only light source in the whole apartment is the living room lamp.

“Rogers. I told you to stop calling me. I don’t give a flying fuck what you’ve got. Just leave me the hell alone,” you snap as soon as you pick it up. You give him no time to answer.

The line goes dead as soon as you tap the end button.

Fubar’s head lifts off from his bed as he sniffs the air. His tail immediately swings back and forth in anticipation. He turns to the door, eyeing it intently.

Your eyebrows furrow in confusion when he starts to whine.

Your phone rattles for 2 minutes as another call from Steve goes unanswered.

Fubar stands, making a run for the door, his paws skid across the wooden flooring as he clumsy trots.

Off in the distance, you hear a car door slam shut.

And another chime from your phone signals a text.

Everything was just.

So.

Loud.

You don’t know when you’ve started crying, but the salty tears burn your face when a breeze brushed past your cheeks from the open window.

“Fubar. Quit it,” you command, stomping up behind him.

He relentlessly pulls forward as you try to tug him back by his collar.

“God-fuckin-damn-it, Fubes,” you huff in frustration.

He doesn’t stop barking. In fact, he grows louder by the second, causing your eardrums to nearly burst.

Shaking your head in irritation, you peer through the peephole. Your heart nearly stutters when you can’t see anything down the staircase, but as a car passes by, a black silhouette of a man stands out.

If Steve Rogers has the gall to come follow you all the way back to Bucky’s apartment, he better be ready for you to completely lose it.

Fubar gripes anxiously, digging at the corner of the door to try to pry it open. You glare down at him, taking the doorknob in a tight grip.

After unlocking the door, you swing it open, opening your mouth to shout at the unwanted company.

Only, you can’t.

No words come out. All that rushes past your lips is a broken sob.

Blue eyes.

Long, shaggy brown hair and a rough beard.

And an exhausted, crooked smile.

You’re about to shatter on the spot, feeling your legs give out from underneath you. You breathe labored breaths and hold onto the doorframe for dear life.

In front of you, Bucky stands bloodied and bruised from head to toe. He pants heavily but smiles nonetheless. Lifting up Steve’s phone in his hand, he lets out an amused laugh. A sweet laugh that only Bucky can do.

“Honey, I’m home,” he croaks.

You may not be able to answer, but Fubar takes the lead, rushing past you like a child on Christmas. He barks frantically, launching himself from the top step. Bucky doesn’t hesitate, catching him while maintaining balance on the stairs. He laughs tearfully, cradling his best friend in his arms. Fubar would never forget his best friend. Perhaps he was going strong just for your sake, but he would never forget in a million years.

With the giant dog still in his arms, Bucky cautiously walks up to you. On instinct, you back up into the apartment, unable to trust the image in front of you. This has happened before. Time and time again, you’ve seen the ghost of Bucky. He would always vanish and you’d be left all alone.

“Baby,” he whispers.

You shut your eyes tightly, shaking your head as tears escape. Even when you lose your footing and end up on your rear, you keep your eyes closed.

“I’m sorry….” he whispers brokenly. You can feel him kneeling in front of you, his cold metal-hand brushing over your knee. “I’m so, so sorry.”

“You’re not real.” Fubar presses against your back, helping you sit up.

Bucky chokes on another bitter laugh. “I am, Honey. I’m real. I’m here.” He squeezes your knee gently. “Please open your eyes.”

For the first time, when you open your eyes, Bucky remains. A pathetic whimper leaves your lips. You drag your eyes over his form, noting the streaks of dried blood over his neck and the bruises coloring his skin. Maybe it’s because you haven’t seen him in so long, but he looks older, more tired, which is shocking since he was always so tired.

“B….Bucky.” Your voice is unsure, afraid that if you speak any louder, you’ll scare him away. When you receive a soft smile, you call his name out again instantly. Within seconds, Bucky pulls you into a crushing hug, holding you tightly against his chest. He trembles around you, revealing just how scared he was.

“I missed your fucking voice,” he admits. “I missed you.”

“Bucky, what the hell happened to you?… I thought….I was starting to lose my fucking mind.” And it was only half a lie. In fact, you think you lost it long ago. Hell, he could probably be a figure of your imagination.

Bucky exhales a shaky breath, scratching Fubar behind the ear. His voice is gruff and raw and all you want to do is hold him forever. Perhaps if you let go, he’ll become a ghost all over again. But his embrace is tight and desperate as he guides you over to the sofa.

“I know I have a lot of explaining to do, Sugar,” he whispers, eyes tearing up at the long story ahead. “But right now I just want to sleep with you in my arms again. I missed you,” he says, burying his face in the crook of your neck. His heart is pounding at an uneven rate. “Can we do that? I promise I’ll explain everything in the morning – I, please, baby. I’m sorry.” He sounds like he’s going to detach at any moment, years of a life that you were not apart of were haunting him.

Before he can go off on a tangent and spiral into a dark mess, you nod firmly, rubbing your eyes dry. “Let’s get you cleaned up first,” you assure, kissing him on the cheek. His eyes flutter closed in content. “C’mon Buck.”

Whether a ghost or not, you were grateful to have the company tonight.

You can hope that it remains tomorrow, but you weren’t about to be ungrateful for the small ounce of mercy that heaven has graced you with.


End file.
